


Beyond the Pale

by Morgause1



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Blood, Body Worship, Choking, D/s, Dom/sub, First Time, Kink, Love, M/M, Master/Servant, Mind Reading, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Psychic Bond, Shame, Smut, Soul Bond, Soul Sex, Spanking, Utumno, Vala/maia, angbang, Ósanwe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 23:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10932090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgause1/pseuds/Morgause1
Summary: Freshly promoted to the position of First Lieutenant, Mairon gets the dubious honor of standing guard in the rare occasions the Vala retires to his bed. This is a strange, disconcerting duty, which leaves the Maia thinking and feeling things that are not only highly improper, but are downright dangerous.





	Beyond the Pale

**Author's Note:**

> OK, my first full-fledged smut fic! Damn, that was a long and hard (eh eh) work…  
> It was inspired by this [pic](http://ramifonverg.tumblr.com/post/157707300529/specially-for-my-friends-house-of-melkor) by [ramifonverg](http://ramifonverg.tumblr.com/), and if you happen to see [Suz](http://suzannart.tumblr.com/) in there – yeah, your eyesight is worthy of the Eagles of Manwë.

Melkor didn’t enjoy sleeping, but as he chose to wear raiment more and more often, the need for rest grew. Even when he did sleep, he would not allow himself to dream: the visions sent by his sibling, the Master of Dreams, tended to be somewhat unpleasant. But sometimes visions did arise from the depths of his own mind – after all, Melkor had a share in all his siblings’ domains – and in these it was safe to indulge.

And now, as Melkor lay in deep slumber in the ever-darkness of Utumno, colors and sounds began ebbing and flowing in his mind: silent, all-encompassing and vacant, filled with innumerable wings that fluttered with the soft sighs of the undead and unliving. A pillar of light began to glow somewhere, gaining in volume and mass, silvery and loud at the same time. It pricked his mind’s eye and then fled, leaving him alone in the dark. But the darkness was good, it was strong, it was his Music and soul. A black army covered the flatness from horizon to horizon. Its cries and the rush of its banners were like the Song of an ocean – not a sorry little fish-infested puddle like those his sibling took so much pride in making, oh, no. This sea was vast, ancient and bottomless, a thing of power and glory. Melkor floated amidst its purple waves while wonderful things were created and destroyed in a cycle all around him, each made in the likeness of his soul. And then, in the heart of the wine-dark sea, there came a touch.

Lava burst into the vacant sky. It flowed, hot and thick, into his ocean, spraying it with orange glitter. He reached to catch it in his hands. Contentment filled him when that soft glow surrendered to him, spilled on his outstretched arms, rushed forward to wrap golden threads around his soul and the broken altar of his mind. Melkor leaned into that touch and it solidified.

 

Freshly promoted to the position of First Lieutenant, Mairon had the dubious honor of standing guard in the rare occasions the Vala retired to his bed. He wondered about this duty, as it didn’t quite make sense to him, but then the Vala was always a little strange and unlike his brethren. This was just one more curiosity to add to the list, and definitely not the first thing to make him feel so… uncomfortable. Mairon sat stiffly in a large armchair near the door of the bedchamber, smoothing over his impeccably pressed livery. There may have been a hint of nervousness in his hurried motions and in the overzealous shine of his boots, but that was deftly suppressed. His ears were pricked up should his Lord call. And indeed, he stirred immediately when he heard a sigh.

“Mairon…”

Mairon sprang to his feet. He came closer to the bed.

“My Lord?”

Silence. Mairon waited patiently for his master to speak again, but he was fast asleep.

Mairon was about to return to the armchair when the Vala rolled onto his back and flung his arms behind his head. The thin fabric covering him slipped past his waist, and Mairon’s breath caught.

He had never seen his master’s fána without the black robes or armor he always wore. A pang of wistfulness came upon him for some reason he didn’t care to ponder. He forced his eyes to turn to the room’s enormous fireplace, seeking the familiar comfort of fire. There was no solace there: the flames had already died down to mere embers and ashes. He tried to focus on the embers, but what little light they still gave was rolling in the gloomy room like a living thing, smoothing itself into the soft shadows and glancing off sharp angles. His gaze followed the light and, despite his best attempts, was drawn in a single direction.

For the dim glow of the embers touched his Lord’s nude form, playing soft and intimate upon his hallowed body. It caressed the long, elegant lines of his muscles: the Vala’s accustomed fána was not heroically built as that of Tulkas, yet he radiated much more power, great and terrible to behold. His long hair spilled all around him on the pillows as a reverse aura, so black that it ate all light, and a harsh contrast to the pale silk of his skin. Mairon’s eyes traveled over his flat stomach and to the broad expanse of his shoulders, rising and falling steadily with each breath. He lingered on the arch of his neck: even in the darkness he could see it pulse, strong and assured as the strokes of the Maia’s hammer. Mairon’s own throat constricted as he tried in vain to swallow, licking his dry lips. Slowly, almost unwillingly, his eyes came to rest on the Vala’s face.

Gorgeous.

Mairon clasped his hands behind his back to stop them from trembling. He was surprised by the intensity of his response: it was improper for a Maia to feel this way. Every Maia yearned for their Vala, of course, that was the nature of their kind. But the natural form of this love was spiritual, a simple pattern of attachment signifying belonging and a need to serve. Soul to soul, respectful and clean, as it was meant to be, as was decreed eons ago in the Timeless Halls before Eä. It wasn’t supposed to be… **this**.

This physical, ugly, and corrupt thing has been growing on his mind ever since he came into the Vala’s service and became increasingly affected by the raiment his new master required him to wear most of the time. It has been dogging his steps and complicating things that shouldn’t have been complicated, like council meetings and training. He hated it. He’d seen beasts and Elves mate as he walked disembodied in their midst: all needs of the flesh were degrading, weakening and causing one to lose decorum. Hardly befitting a pure being of function and high Purpose! He felt that degradation begin to take its toll on his own mind, whenever he found himself standing perhaps too close to his Lord, his velvety voice caressing his ears, and felt himself shiver like some animal. And then… Mairon cringed as he remembered that one time when he came into the forge and saw the Vala hard at work, crafting one of his own eldritch creations. The **wanton** way Matter leapt into his naked hands and twisted, tearing and shattering itself to take any form the Vala desired of it… through the pounding steam clouding his mind, Mairon saw the Vala lift his eyes and flash him a sharp smile. The Maia barely managed to murmur an excuse before he turned and fled to his own chambers, where he, he… convulsively straightening his robes, Mairon tried to banish the memory. How he hated himself afterwards! At least it didn’t take long.

Again unlike his timid brethren, Lord Melkor loved and knew the strength that was in flesh, the sheer importance of Matter in this new world they were still shaping. He knew that as he knew everything else there was to know: his share in Eru’s thought was the greatest among the Ainur. Mairon, on the other hand, was but a forge-spirit and while he was astute in his own domain, he had no knowledge in these things. But despite his love for Matter, there was no way that the Vala would condone Mairon allowing his fána to steer his actions instead of his eala. And if, by some terrible twist of fate, he knew Mairon’s basest animal urges turned toward his own holy self… Well. At best, all the hard work he put in to get where he gotten would be thrown to the wind. Alas, the worst case scenario was also the more plausible one – Mairon shuddered when he recalled how the master dealt with those of his siblings who displeased him.

Philosophical musing aside, he should not be standing here, where the stern and remote god seemed so close, as if the lightest pressure and the shallowest of breathes might bring their bodies together. He should go back to his post at the door. He should go right now. And Mairon might have done so had not the Vala’s lips suddenly parted in a sensual smile and he whispered.

“Beautiful.”

It was as if lightening passed through his body. Mairon wavered, flesh tingling and spirit revolting. He tugged at the collar of his stifling tunic and tried to calm himself down, to stop panting so piteously. How could he be undone so easily? It was weak. It was shameful, it was…

Trembling all over, Mairon knelt by the bed and stretched his neck to touch his lips to those of the Vala.

He stopped a mere hair’s breadth away, balancing awkwardly on the edge of the bed. His heart was pounding like a sledgehammer in his ears, almost loud enough to wake his master. He turned his head aside and took a long, shaky breath to steady himself, only to be filled with his Lord scent, warm and heady.

This was wrong. This was a horrible, horrible mistake.

It took all of Mairon’s remarkable self-control to straighten his back and drag his feet back to the armchair, but before he could get more than a few steps away, he heard the Vala’s deep voice behind him.

“What are you doing?”

 

His voice was not yet menacing, but clearly only barely so. All color leaking from his face, Mairon stopped in his tracks. His head whipped back to see his Lord sitting up in bed.

“Your pardon, my Lord. I thought I heard you call.”

“You were leaning over me, Lieutenant. Why is that?”

So he wasn’t asleep after all! Mairon rummaged in his stunned mind, trying to find a suitable excuse. Nothing came up. Lying did not yet come easily to him in those years, and the truth was too shameful.

“I, um…”

Even in the dark, he could see the master’s icy eyes narrow in suspicion. He rose in one fluid motion, graceful as a predator, and closed the distance between them. His much taller frame loomed over Mairon – fánar are Matter-mirrors of ealar, and the great spirit of the Vala was capable of manifesting significantly more impressive fánar than any of his servants ever could. The shadowy air condensed and gathered around the quivering Maia, almost solid enough to bind him in place.

“Tell me.”

Mairon couldn’t. He saw anger spark in his master’s face, saw his hand lift and braced for a blow, but then the hand merely touched his forehead. The fingers were light and cool, yet the Maia felt himself scorched. He knew what was expected of him, and a quick evaluation of the odds he faced told him that submission would result in less pain than trying to keep his secrets. Reluctantly, he obeyed and opened his mind.

Holding his servant’s gaze, Melkor reached through his barriers, past his pretense of cool indifference, and plucked the thoughts directly from his mind. Mairon watched helplessly as all his feelings, each and every one of the dirty, embarrassing little fantasies he’d buried deep inside – and then even **that** incident! – were dragged out of him and examined with a growing amusement. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t do anything to cover them up or excuse them – they were far too straight-forward. Eventually the Vala chuckled, slow and cruel.

“So I thought.”

Mairon’s mouth opened to say something, to apologize, but then the hand wrapped around the back of his head, mussing up his neatly braided hair, and crushed him against the Vala’s mouth.

Melkor’s eyes were closed. He was clearly enjoying himself. Mairon’s remained open, staring at Melkor as if unbelieving this unexpected luck. He tried to remember how to breathe, but that was extremely difficult with the waves of pleasure surging through him from where he was being touched. Then the Vala withdrew and he gulped for air.

“You taste wonderful, just like I thought you would. And so warm…” Melkor’s hands ran down Mairon’s overheated body, excited, possessive. “Why are you still dressed?”

Melkor watched impatiently as Mairon’s usually nimble fingers began fighting with the clasps of the elaborate robes he wore. “Faster.”

The Maia kicked his clothes away in a crumpled heap and turned back to him, searching his face, and then tried to kiss him again. Melkor held him at an arm’s length. “Stand still. I want to look at you.” Flames leapt in the fireplace in response to the Vala’s silent command as he sat back on the edge of the bed. “Show me what you made for me.”

Mairon straightened and pushed his shoulders back. He knew he was beautiful – he chose and cultivated this form carefully, knowing that its strong lines, lava-colored hair and snowy skin flattered the Vala of Contrast, while still precisely mirroring his fiery and exacting eala. He was still self-conscious of his flustered state, but all tension left his mind when he saw the Vala’s hungry gaze straining on him. Relieved, Mairon circled to offer Melkor a full view. He smiled over his shoulder and moved his fingers to toy with the golden band fastening his braid. “Would you like me to let down my hair, my Lord?”

“Yes.”

Melkor gasped with delight when his hair finally cascaded down his back, metallic red flashing in the firelight. “Come to me. No,” he said when Mairon made a move towards him. “On your knees.”

Even covered only by the flimsy fabric loosely clinging to his hips and in this intimate atmosphere, Melkor looked regal, enthroned here as in his Great Hall. Mairon fell to his knees and crawled up to him. He lifted his eyes to the shadows of the Vala’s hair, but couldn’t make out his face in the back-glow of the fire. Awe stricken and shaking in such close proximity to the center of gravity which was the Vala’s vast spirit, Mairon pressed his forehead into the thick carpet at his feet, closing his eyes when the pull on his heart became almost too much to bear. He needed badly to touch Melkor. He needed to feel every last bit of the one who for so long held his dreams in sway. 

“My Lord, may I – “

“Yes.” Melkor didn’t even wait for him to finish the sentence. That was encouraging. Mairon took one of the Vala’s strong calves in both his hands and began kissing his foot. Melkor leaned back on his elbows and regarded the enticing sight before him. He was so passionate, this Maia of fire, eagerly throwing himself into this as he did with any task he appointed to him during the years of his service. Learning that Mairon was indeed lusting after him, as he suspected – none of his other Maiar ever looked at him quite like that – made things much more interesting.

“Have you bedded anyone before, Mairon?”

Mairon paused in the middle of licking the arch of the Vala’s foot to answer. “No, my Lord.”

“Neither did I, in this type of body. Well then,” his voice took on a mischievous tone. “We’ll have to experiment.” He finally flung the cloth from his thighs and raised Mairon to eye level. Mairon whimpered as he was ripped from him, but then his eyes flashed downwards to Melkor’s lap and his jaw dropped. Melkor laughed soundlessly and kissed him again. He moved from his lips to his bejeweled ear and his jaw, and then tilted Mairon’s head backwards.

“So soft,” he breathed, tracing Mairon’s neck with his teeth. “I could tear out your throat with a single bite.” The Maia shuddered with anticipation at the threat and his pulse beat even faster under his tongue. Melkor pulled him further back to run his lips over his chest and stomach, flicking his tongue over his pale, sensitive nipples and biting down on their hardening nubs. Mairon groaned from the stinging pain but leaned into his mouth. His hands sought for purchase on Melkor’s arms, slipped, tried again. Melkor flipped him over to lie across his knees and ran his hand down his spine. Mairon shimmered, veins of fire showing underneath his skin, strong muscles straining in vain against his hold. Melkor ran his hand lower. The Maia’s buttocks were well-rounded, muscular and taut. He rubbed them in circular motions for a few moments, and then gave them a sharp slap. The Maia’s breath shattered into a delicious cry. Melkor did it again and Mairon ground his hot, hard loins into his thigh in response. He was hard now, too, and the contact against the Maia’s trembling body was more than pleasing. Panting and bewildered, Mairon turned his head.

“Please, Master. Allow me to touch you. I’ll pleasure you.” he begged through the curtain of his copper hair. Melkor snickered. The haughty and imposing creature was losing his poise so quickly! It was amazing how little work it took for Melkor to bring him there.

“Tell me, Mairon: did you beg Aulë like that, too?” this dart was cruel, but he enjoyed taunting him.

Mairon spit a curse in the First Language and the fire leapt higher for a moment. “Never, Master!”

Of course not. That fool was never strong enough to command him. He recalled the surge of envy that almost drowned him the first time he saw the Maia in Aulë’s household. His sibling did not deserve to own such a glorious creature. He hadn’t the slightest clue what to do with him. Luckily, he managed to make Mairon see that, too, although the road was long and difficult: this Maia was a loyal one, unlike that fickle merman of Ulmo’s. That made it even better when he finally knelt and came away with him.

“Good. You beg so pretty. I should give you more reasons to do so.” He rewarded the Maia with another playful slap on the bottom, this time allowing his finger to stray between his cheeks, and then moved his hand to the inside of his thigh. Mairon yelped, hair bursting into flames and subsiding again. “You wanted to pleasure me, you said?” Mairon’s eyes burned in the darkness as he nodded vigorously. “Then you shall.”

He needed to guide the Maia until he understood what he wanted him to do, but when he did… Melkor threw back his head and growled in elation. He buried his hand in Mairon’s tousled mane and watched through half lidded eyes as the Maia licked and sucked him, hollowing his cheeks and murmuring happily against him. Clever creature – his soft, velvety tongue quickly found that particular spot that made him see stars. His hips bucked into the touch and he pushed Mairon’s head further down, penetrating his throat. The Maia gagged and his eyes moistened. Melkor touched his tears and looked at his fingers with puzzlement. He continued pushing himself ever deeper, crushing Mairon’s wet face against his abdomen. He did it until Mairon seemed to be losing consciousness – his senses overflowing, he almost forgotten fánar needed air to operate. He lifted the Maia’s head from his groin, smiling when he resisted weakly and tried to continue sucking him. He lifted Mairon effortlessly and laid him on the bed. Spreading his legs, he knelt between them.

Through the clouds of blood boiling in his brain and the tears in his eyes, Mairon stared at Melkor. He towered over him, a massive dark shape like a storm front. His eyes were so cold that they burned, tearing off skin where their gaze fell. Mairon had seen this before: this is what the Vala looked like when he descended upon the pillars of the Lamps and crushed them to dust with his bare hands and teeth. Mairon had to hide his feelings then, pretend to be disgusted by the wanton destruction. No more. This time he was the sole object of the Vala’s attention, his only victim. He was free to admire his grandeur openly, to let his soul sing prayers as he lie expecting to be annihilated in one devastating blow. He lifted warm, shaking fingers to graze against his master. His touch, his taste and smell in his mouth, the black hair that tickled his face when the Vala tilted his head just so… it was almost too much to take.

Melkor studied the expression on the Maia’s crimson, panting face as he touched his fingertips to his testicles, massaging them slowly. He ran his other hand lightly up his erection, and Mairon bit into his lip so hard that it bled.

“Don’t do this. Your blood is mine alone to draw.” He leaned over and licked the blood off his chin, reveling in its sharp tang. He rubbed his hand fully along his Maia’s length, kissing the groans straight from his lips. His fingers suddenly became wet with something which wasn’t mere perspiration. He looked down, thrilled to see the thick liquid dribbling from the tip. It made Melkor throb, eaten away by need. He could wait no more. This wasn’t at all similar to what he’d tried before – he suspected it was going to be better.    

He pushed the Maia’s legs up and his fingers found his tight ring of muscles. He run his finger around its rim for a moment, and then pushed a wet fingertip in. Mairon gave a sharp cry, and was mortified when Melkor burst into raucous laughter.

“Is something wrong, my Lord?!”

“Wrong? No, quite the opposite.” Melkor moved closer, positioning himself at Mairon’s entrance. He looked straight into Mairon’s frightened eyes as he drawled. “Oh, my poor, poor little Mairon. I’m going to enjoy you so much.”

And Mairon shrieked.

 

Melkor was still for a moment, savoring the intensity of the feeling. Mairon was thrashing and twitching beneath him, around him as his small, tight body fought to accept him. He was gritting his teeth, obviously trying not to scream. Melkor wrapped his arms round the Maia to still him. He moved again inside him, eliciting more moans of pain. He established a slow, deepening pace and found that he enjoyed it. His Maia was beginning to relax. Melkor kissed him and he melted again into his touch, soft and pliant as clay.

He moved faster, harder, and Mairon loosened up completely. He met him thrust for thrust, gasping wildly and plunging his well-polished nails into Melkor’s back. His pre-cum sleeked member, trapped between both their bodies, throbbed and jerked sporadically. He seemed close to the edge, ready to fall and shatter into a million pieces. It made Melkor angry: it was not going to end like that, so quickly. This Maia had so much more to give, and he was going to get every last bit of it. He pulled out and grabbed Mairon hard by the hair, noting with vicious satisfaction how the skin around his temples stretched painfully, how his wild, panicking eyes teared up.

“What…?”

 “No, you hungry beast. You only cum when I tell you to.”

He turned the Maia around and shoved his face into the furs, and then ran his hands down his flanks to capture his thighs in an iron grip. He entered Mairon from behind, hard enough to hurl him screaming into the headboard. Melkor moaned, long and luxuriant, and then wrapped his fingers around Mairon’s throat. He pulled, arching the Maia’s back and bringing his head close enough to whisper in his ear.

“You like it when I touch you, do you not? You enjoy feeling your fána against mine.”

Mairon’s eyes were closed, his wide, bruised mouth gaping open. “Yes, yes! Please!”

He licked his cheek, finishing with a quick nip to his ear. “Even when I hurt you…”

“Yes! Anything, everything you do to me…”

“This is a sin in the eyes of Eru, you know. He kept this pleasure strictly for His Children.” Melkor smiled against his ear, teasing.

“I don’t give a damn what He wants.” The Maia whimpered, “I only care about you!”

“Good Maia.” he squeezed his throat. “It’s me you belong to and you will do what **I** want, now and forever.” Sparks flew from Mairon’s hair as he emitted strangled little noises. He clawed flaming fingers at the Vala’s hips, trying to pull him deeper in. Melkor shifted his hips and angled his thrust, and suddenly Mairon’s whole body glowed. He hit something inside him, he felt instinctively, something that made the Maia reel in his arms. He removed his hand from Mairon’s throat and took his erection, continuing to assault that very spot.

Mairon was bleeding now, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was writhing in senseless pleasure, looking utterly gone. “Must serve the Vala…” he moaned, rubbing against his hand. He was hot, so hot, his internal muscles clenching and coiling around Melkor’s member. It sent brilliant darts of bliss up his spine, into every extremity. He buried his face in Mairon’s hair, breathing his scent and greedily drinking the pleas escaping his mouth. His hand left the Maia’s thigh and swept up his stomach to wrap across his chest.

“Need to pleasure the Vala,” Mairon growled, his voice the barely-intelligible hiss of a furnace, his speech regressing fast to what it was before Eä and the creation of spoken language, half sparks flying from underneath the strokes of a hammer and half images of thought. His head lolled from side to side on Melkor’s chest. “Forge-spirit slave to the Mighty-Spirit, the Black Sun, only one strong enough to defy our Father.” he choked as another wave of ecstasy hit him, eyes rolling in his head. He was mindless, reduced to his most basic pattern: a servile spirit, seeking to attach itself to a bigger and stronger one. It was beautiful. Pulse thundering in his veins, Melkor felt his climax approaching. He bit into the back of the Maia’s neck and sucked hard, leaving a livid bruise on his moist flesh.

“All yours, obey you, give everything forever,” Mairon wept, drowning in a wine-dark sea of happiness and agony, reaching his arms to the only one who could save him. “Please, Master, I beg you, I beg you. **Please** may I cum?”

“No!”

With the last of his strength, he turned his face to his master and murmured into his mouth, like lava flowing slow and heavy into his waves to vanish in a burst of steam.

“ **I love you** …”

Triumph flooded Melkor. He reached out with his soul and grabbed Mairon’s own, engulfing him with his spirit and sinking his claws right down to the Maia’s Core. Spirits entwined in a maelstrom of flames, Melkor felt the Maia’s need crushing through him as though it were his own.

“Cum,” his spirit churned, and then Melkor himself was overcome.

 

He pushed Mairon aside and fell down on the bed, heaving. When he came back to his senses, he noticed that his Maia was curled in on himself and trembling violently on the edge of the bed. He extended his hand to caress him and noticed his groin was all covered in cooling blood and sperm.

“Clean me up.”

Mairon clambered to his feet, fell over, and then crawled towards the Vala’s bath. He returned several minutes later with a bowl full of hot water and a towel. Melkor closed his eyes in quiet contentment while he cleaned him: his touch was warm and careful on his oversensitive flesh. This Maia was indeed a jewel above all other in his household. When he finished, Melkor dismissed him with a short wave.

Dressed and with his disheveled hair tied back into a quick ponytail, the Maia dropped on one knee by the bed to kiss his Lord’s hand. Melkor marked the fleeting twitch of pain that crossed his face with wicked glee.

“Thank you for allowing me to do this, Master. You are uniquely generous.”

“You pleased me very much, Mairon. I will see you in council in the third watch.”

Mairon closed the door of the suite behind him and leaned against it, not caring who might see him. An enormous smile rose inside him, starting in the depths of his soul and expanding until it threatened to crack his face in half. It all fell into place now: love, whether spiritual or physical, was not a thing to cower from and tuck away into the corners of his existence. It was not a weakness. It was power, pure and simple, an engine that would drive him to the ends of the world. And as for the pain – he’ll find a way to make it easier next time.

Flicking an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve, the Lieutenant of Melkor swaggered limping down the dark corridor of Utumno, triumphantly whistling a snippet of the Music.

Behind him, Melkor stretched back languidly into his bedding, drifting into a warm afterglow. Oh yes.

That was **much** better than last time.


End file.
